Just One Yesterday
by Hawthorn Tree
Summary: "I'm a maniac, not a psychopath. I don't kill people." "Are you sure about that, Miss Jensen? Everyone else seems to think you are, at least enough to keep you here. And just like Jervis always says: we're all mad here." "Yeah, well I'm going to be pretty upset myself if you don't let me out of the closet right now." "Why? I thought we could use some alone time."
1. Light 'Em Up

Footsteps and the sloshing of gasoline echoed through the abandoned building as a woman made her way across the cement floor and up a pair of molding wooden stairs, damp and permanently damaged by moist salt air of the dock. Picking her way across the second floor, she finally stopped at the back wall and turned to survey it all. Finding nothing of interest or importance, only a forgotten few boxes and other knick-knacks illuminated by a massive hole in the concave ceiling, she smiled in a relieved way and started emptying the contents of the three-gallon can on onto the wooden floor, thoroughly enjoying the smell of gasoline as it sank into the boards and dripped into the lower level.

Satisfied with her work, she hurried down the stairs two at a time and picked up a second can she'd left at the bottom, repeating her earlier actions. Once finished, she reached into the pockets of her protective jacket, pulling out a much-loved zippo lighter and a few pages from the April 19th Gotham Times, one of which declared "Serial Arsonist Still at Large" in bold, black letters. Rolling up the newspaper, she doubled checked her helmet one last time before clicking open the lighter and holding it to the pages. Waiting until they were properly lit, she admired the flames for a moment before tossing them away from her and watching as they hit the gasoline, greedily devouring as they spread throughout the warehouse.

For several minutes she stood there as the flames surrounded her, marveling at the power of the fire and the way it consumed everything, turning the world into an inferno. Eventually however, she had to shake herself out of her reverie and head to the door, knowing someone had surely called the 911 by now and she only had a ten minute window to be clear from the sight. Striding through the flames, she stepped out onto the empty street and calmly walked to her four door Honda, pulling off her helmet and letting her long braid fall onto her shoulder. Starting up the car, she drove about three blocks before her phone began to ring.

"Jensen."  
"Hey Alyssa, sorry to bug you, but we just got a call and Guthrie went home sick about an hour ago. Anyway you can come in? It's by the old fisherman's district so if you hurry we can wait."  
"Sure, no problem. I'm actually in my car right now, just give me five."

It took nearly an hour and several hundred tax dollars to put out the flames, which had spread to three other buildings in the twenty-three minutes it had taken Engine 52 and the firefighters of Firehouse 396 to arrive on the scene, but since most of the warf had been abandoned for nearly twenty years and was primarily used by squaters, no one really cared. After all, it was only they were only three of the eighteen buildings that had been burnt down in the last fourteen weeks, as Vicky Vale was reminding viewers when the exhausted group returned to their firehouse.

"Police still have no leads as to the identity of the arsonist, who is also believed to be responsible for the deaths of two of Gotham socialites, Ezra Clarke and Tobias Kingston, as well as the deaths of four homeless men and women, all of whom burned to death," the blonde said with a look of false concern plastered on her Botoxed faced, "Commissioner Gordon has even reached out to the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, hoping that a fresh pair of eyes will leads to a break in the case. In other news, the Riddler-" Whatever Vicki was going to say was cut off when Nathanael Diehl, a veteran firefighter of nearly thirty years, switched the channel as he flopped onto the used station couch.

"What the heck do they need the FBI for? Bat Family ain't big enough? I mean, they've got like eight members, don't they?" Christian Jones pointed out as he claimed the recliner.  
"Five I think, new Batgirl. Six if you include Huntress or Zatanna," McKenzie Farr cut in.  
Evan Jeffris shook his head, "Nah, there's another Robin now, wears a hood. Jones had a run in with him the other night, didn't you Jonesy?"  
Jones grimaced, "I knew I never should have told you that."  
"Uh oh, what happened?" Alyssa asked, pulled her braid of her shoulder with a grin.  
"I accidentally set off my car alarm in the grocery store parking lot and the little punk came swinging out of nowhere waving a flippin' sword around like he thought he was Wonder Woman or somethin'." The others all snickered as Jones burrowed deeper into the recliner and retrieved the book he'd been reading before their call. There was relative quiet for a few minutes before Jeffries spoke up.

"Do you think they're right and our pyro was the one who killed those people?"  
Farr shrugged, "Maybe. Most serial arsonists don't intend to kill though; our guy just burns down old buildings while the other one dousts people in gasoline before lighting 'em up."  
"Think Firefly's at it again?" Jeffries suggested.  
"He's still in Blackgate," Alyssa told him, "And it's probably two different people."  
"Same methods though," Diehl pointed out, "I've seen plenty of arsonists working in Gotham, but most use something found on the scene. Using gas is actually pretty rare."  
"Plus if it is the same person, he's probably exhausted," Jones pointed out from behond his book, "I mean, we're all pretty burnt out just from putting stuff out, never mind lighting everything up. And weren't the other fires lit sometime in the morning? He'd be exhausted."

"Well I'm definitely feeling it," Alyssa yawned as she stood and stretched, "See ya'll in six hours."  
"Unless our new friend strikes again," Jeffries pointed out.  
"Better not," Farr grumbled as she stood and followed Alyssa out of the living room.


	2. Two Can Keep a Secret

The Arkham Asylum secretary looked up in slight interest when two police offiers escorted a woman through the doors, her hands cuffed behind her back and dark auburn hair falling carelessly onto the shoulders of her orange jumpsuit. It wasn't often new patients were admitted to Arkham, usually Batman just dragged the old ones back in, but over the last few weeks newer convicts had been sent to Arkham due to overcrowding at Blackgate.  
"Name?" she asked.  
"Jensen, Alyssa," one of the officers told her while the woman smirked like she knew a joke no one else did, "Transferring from Blackgate Prison."  
"She's the one that lit all those fires right? The one they to get the FBI involved for?" the secretary asked.  
"Yup. And when they showed up she was just sitting there waitin' for 'em," the other officer told her with a conspirital smile.  
"Huh, weird. Alright, everything looks good," she waved over two guards, "We'll take it from here."

The prisoner was taken through sanitation and inspected by on of the Arkham doctors for any external health issues or hidden objects. Once cleared she was allowed to redress in a new orange Arkham uniform and sedate before being taken to her new cell in the women's ward, that smirk on her face the whole time.

Once the door clicked shut and locks slid into place behind the guards the women in the ward once again began to move around, a few talking quietly with each other. Across from the new prisoner Harley Quinn bounced off her bed and pressed her face against the glass.  
"Hey Red, watcha in her for?" she called. The other woman glanced at her in mild interest, but didn't respond as she went to sit on the bed, her long hair falling in her face despite the rubberband on her writst.  
"Hey, newbie, I'm talkin' to you!" Harley snapped again, not liking that the new girl was ignoring her. The other woman looked up again and this time responded, pulling her hair back into a bun as she did so.  
"Setting a few people on fire. They're trying to pin some buildings and homeless people on me too, but those weren't me."

Harley nodded sympathetically, "Yeah, I feel you. Me and my puddin' get accused of extra stuff too. It's like they think everything is our fault," she finished mournfully, but then perked back up again, "I'm Harley. What's your name?"

"Me?" she hesitated for a moment, then smiled, "You can call me Lauren."

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, mostly just the women sitting in their cells while guards came and went, taking and returning patients from various therapy and group sessions as well as those with laundry, cooking, or cleaning. Harley talked for most of the time, explaining the dynamics of the asylum and it's various patients, excited to have someone new to talk to while Lauren asked questions. Finally the dinner bell rang and guards appeared to lead the women to the cafeteria. Most of the women were simply herded with minimal restraints, but Harley required handcuff, leg cuffs, and two heavily armed guards, as her own high-security women's ward had been destroyed in the last breakout and was currently being repaired, meaning that she had to stay in the lower-security ward.

The cafeteria was crowded with inmates from Blackgate, most of whom were huge mob lackies that looked around warily, uncomfortable surrounded by so many mental patients. Due to the number of residents the all meals were done in shifts of two. Luckily, Harley explained with a manic grin, the big names all had lunch together, though her "puddin'" was still at large. That part was said with a scowl, which Lauren took notice of, but Harley was quick to perk back up as she received bounced to the far back corner table, try in hand while Lauren trailed behind.

"Hiya Professor, Riddles, oh hey Jervis, you're back!" Harley gushed.  
"Hello child," a man with dark hair and glasses greeted while the short blond to his left continued to stare blankly into space and the dark redhead across from him just grunted as Harley plopped down next to him grinning.  
"This is Lauren, she's my new neighbor," Harley gushed, "Just arrived today." Two sets of eyes zeroed in on Lauren, who met them levely. "This here is Docta Crane, Jervis, and Eddie."  
"Edward," the dark redhead snapped, glancing up from his soup to glare at Harley.  
Sorry, Riddles," Harley apologized, "He gets really defensive," she clarified to Lauren.

Edward snorted, "It hardly matters. I'll be long gone soon enough."  
"Oh?" Lauren challenged, "And what about the guards?"  
"The eight of us go forth, not back, to protect our king from a foes attack. What are we?" the man sneared.  
"Pawns," Lauren smirked, "What gets taller the older it gets?"  
Edward snorted, "A candle obviously."  
"Huh," Lauren shared a look with Harley, "I guess he's smart enough. For a man."

Harley giggled loudly and a ghost of humor glanced across Doctor Cranes face as he inspected Lauren from behind his glasses. Edward, however, was less than amused.  
"Of course, sarcasm and insults, defensive tactics used by inferior minds in the face of true genius," he sniffed.  
"Are we getting defensive, Mr. Nygma?" Lauren asked, glancing at him from the other side of Harley. Edward opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when one of the Blackgate inmates behind him began to gag loudly.

All eyes immediately went to the man, a fairly scrawny young man covered in tattoos, as he scrambled to his feet, coughing and choking the whole way.  
"Uh oh, he doesn't look so good," Harley commented. Edward sneered and turned away, content with knowing there would be one less idiot in Gotham and intend upon crushing the newest idiot, only to find that Lauren had risen to her feet and was pulling her hair out of its bun and into a low side ponytail.

She looked around in apparent confusion, blinking rapidly as if to reorient herself, then with a firm shake, focused on the task at hand.  
"Sir," she said in a calm but firm voice as she approached the man, "Are you choking? Please nod yes or no." Red faced and teary eyed, the man nodded. "Okay, my name's Alyssa Jensen, I'm an EMT and a firefighter, can I help you?" He nodded again with a particularly angry gag, saliva dripping from his mouth as he tried to force up whatever was blocking his airway. "Okay. I'm going to need to keep coughing while I give you the Heimlich maneuver, okay? If you're coughing that means you're still breathing, and that's good."

Before she could circle him completely though, the young man's eyes rolled into his skull and with a final gag he pitched forward and collapsed on the floor. Swearing, Alyssa rolled him onto his back and began checking his vitals.  
"Okay, heart's still good, but he's not breathing, so it won't be for much longer," she grumbled, then stood and looked around for a first aid kit. Spotting one in the kitchen just behind the bar, she shouted for the guard nearest to get it. By now most of the guards and inmates were focused on spectacle, everyone interested to see what would happen next.

While waiting for the kit to arrive from across the room, Alyssa tilted the man's head back and, opening his mouth, performed a figner swipe. Finding nothing, she grimaced and reached for the kit, only to be pulled away by one of the guards.  
"What the-"  
"We'll take it from her," he told her, "Stay back."  
"Are you crazy? He's unconscious and not breathing, I'm a licensed emergency medical responder, and you're telling me to back off?"  
"We don't need help from a prisoner."  
"What? I'm not a prisoner, I'm a first responder, and he is going to die. Now move! Unless you'd prefer to give the poor sucker mouth-to-mouth yourself." For a several heartbeats it seemed like the guard wasn't going to let her pass, but after an intense staring contest, he backed down.

Grabbing the proffered kit, Alyssa unclasped it and was relieved to find a resuscitation mask within. She immediately went to work, strapping it to his face and started giving breaths. At the sixth breath, his body heaved and vomited filled the mask. Grimacing, Alyssa removed the mask and rolled him onto his side as the man heaved again and drew a ragged breath. Alyssa patted his back encouragingly as he vomited once more and turned back to the guard.

"Get him to a doctor. He should be fine, but they should double check anyway," she told them. One of the guards nodded in affirmation and stood, supporting the young man as they walked away. The rest of the guards stepped in, ordering prisoners to return to their dinners and be quiet for the remainder of meal time. Alyssa stood quietly as the other inmates began to settle down, then, pulling her hair back into a bun, turned back to the table and sat down next to Harley.

"That was something, Red," Harley told her quietly as she ripped apart a roll.  
"The question is, why did Miss Lauren introduce herself as Alyssa Jensen?" Edward asked, staring at Lauren more intently than she'd like.  
"Tear one off and scratch my head what was red is black instead. What am I?" was Lauren's response.  
Edward scoffed, "A match, obviously. If you're going to try and beat me at my own game, at least make it somewhat of a challenge for me."  
"Alright. Trivia to some, honored above all, those who cross her are doomed to fall. Three headed dog, crossroads at night, ghost of the moon in full flight. Who is she?"  
Edward puffed up and Lauren could practically see the wheels turning as his face began to fall, "I... She... Ghost of the moon..."  
"Do you give up, Mr. Nygma?"

"No! I-"  
"Alright prisoners, dinner is over. Everyone stand, pile up your dishes, and line up to be returned to your cells."  
"Wait!" Edward tried to stop, but was quickly hustled away as the crowd of inmates headed towards the entrance. Crane, however, had better luck.

"An interesting display, Miss Jensen," he commented as they placed their plastic utensils in a soapy bucket for the cleaning crew, "Tell me, how long have you been in control?"  
Lauren glanced sideways at him, "I think a better question, Doctor Crane, would be how you managed to palm that syringe without anyone noticing."  
Crane's eyes glinted as he removed his glasses and slipped them into the breatpocket of his gray Arkham uniform, "Careful child, I can be a very dangerous man when I want to be."  
"I know. Believe it or not, I don't care what you do with that needle so long as it stays away from me."  
"Oh really? Not at all concerned about the innocents who might be met with it?"  
Lauren stopped to look him full on and shrugged, "Oddly enough, I've never really had that moral dilemma." Whatever Crane was going to say next was interrupted by the arrival of Harley, who chatted animatedly while dragging Lauren away, not realizing her newfound friend wasn't paying any attention at all.


End file.
